


Deja Brew

by pennyroads



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, Fluff, puns, what else?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 14:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17408813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyroads/pseuds/pennyroads
Summary: “Oh yes. A modern-day Nora Ephron romance. Tell me, is good penmanship a turn-on?” - a Bughead Coffee Shop AU





	Deja Brew

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the coffee shop AU nobody asked for! Expect fluff and puns, because it’s me and that’s my niche, apparently.

**Jughead**

“Are you listening?”

A daddy’s girl wearing an expensive-looking trench coat and scarf ensemble snapped her fingers at Jughead in a move that would have made a lesser man’s blood boil. “I said I'll have a large almond milk decaf latte, extra shot, with caramel drizzle on the bottom and white mocha syrup.” Jughead’s eyes rolled so hard he came perilously close to displacing a cornea.

“And coconut shavings on top. To go.”

“Would you like a barf bag with that?” He muttered under his breath, grabbing a cup from the stack and jotting down the ridiculously complex code baristas insisted on using. He was certain World War II cryptographers wouldn't be able to crack this stuff.

It was Jughead’s first day at _‘Deja Brew_ the local coffee shop that thought itself too cool to be referred to as ‘hipster’.

It was a cozy corner café, furnished with large, plush armchairs that one could comfortably sink into, low hanging light fixtures that glowed bright and warm and plenty of appropriately highbrow artwork made by local artists of dubious talent.

The tables were few and far between, allowing its occupants to completely block out the rest of the world if they so chose - an introvert’s wet dream.

Numerous bookshelves adorned the whitewashed, exposed brick walls, each one overflowing with titles to suit every taste and fancy, penned by an eclectic selection of authors, ranging from Julia Quinn to Jose Saramago.

No one ever really read any of the volumes, because their usual demographic consisted of an even split between young, well-to-do mothers who stopped by on their way to hot yoga and frazzled college students, too preoccupied with finals and project deadlines to do more than come inside, order the largest coffee available and hog a table for an hour or four. The furious clicking of keyboard keys was a constant soundtrack throughout the day, blending seamlessly with the soft jazz playing from the overhead speakers.

A wide counter separated the array of overly caffeinated youngsters from the small team of baristas who patiently poured cup after cup of hot, smooth liquid into their eager, waiting cups.

If people came to the Brew (as it was colloquially known to faithful customers and staff) for the ambiance and the promise of a decent cup coffee, they usually stayed for the pastries.

Flaky, scrumptious danishes that left behind sweet, sticky fingers; crumbly, fragrant muffins in a wide selection of flavors - lemon poppy seed being the most sought after; devilishly decadent chocolate brownies, smooth and silky and so incredibly moreish, you could never settle for just one; and the undisputed favorite, scones so deliciously buttery and soft that there was an an actual _line_ each morning, people queuing up excitedly, still rubbing sleep from their eyes, eager to get their hands on those pillowy pieces of perfection.

Jughead planned on getting to know every single item on the food menu - for **science** , of course, and so he could help customers make an informed decision. _Obviously_.

A floor to ceiling chalkboard covered the wall behind the counter. Handwritten menu items and prices filled most of the space, with the weekly specials added in at the bottom. Bored employees sometimes doodled in the blank spaces - the owners were fine with it, as long as they kept it strictly PG (there had been less than savory incidents, Archie had told him).

Jughead hadn't been a regular costumer of the Brew prior to getting hired. Not for any particular reason, except that it wasn't in his neighborhood. He lived on the other side of campus and rarely made the commute to the leafy streets of Crescent Park. Archie, his roommate, had been the one to tell him about the job opening, since he and his girlfriend Veronica worked the afternoon shift at the coffee shop.

It was a no-brainer; not that far from his apartment, the pay was decent and most importantly, Archie had assured him that the staff regularly got to keep leftover pastries.

Jughead would be covering the late shift, which meant he’d get first pickings. It could only be a gift from the gods.

However, he was quickly regretting every single life decision that had led him to that moment as he angrily stared down the coffee machine.

After five grueling hours of dealing socially acceptable stimulants in the form of sugary beverages to disillusioned youths and middle-class moms, it was finally time to close up and go home, inhale whatever was left in the fridge and conk out for the night.

Except, one of his fundamental duties as late shift custodian was to give a thorough clean to the industrial sized coffee machine; the very complex, extremely avant-garde expresso monstrosity. Jughead was pretty sure it could double up as a time machine, if you pressed the right combination of buttons.

Archie and Veronica had given him the lowdown on how to take it apart safely, but they had only covered the basics - erroneously assuming Jughead had ever used anything more complex that a trusty drip.

He decided everyone was better off if he didn't touch it and asked for clarification during his next shift. Which unfortunately meant that whoever was coming in in the morning would have to deal with the mess. Jughead felt very uneasy about adding to someone else’s workload.

He scanned the room, making sure everything else was in order. He had wiped down all the tables and carefully vacuumed the floor and rugs. The counter had been sprayed with disinfectant, the empty cake stands were clean and drying in the sink. All the leftovers had been divided and safely stored in takeaway boxes - Jughead was struggling very hard to keep from sneaking bits of chocolate croissant from his.

The only area he hadn't really gone into was the kitchen. It was holy ground; a place he deeply, vehemently respected - given his love of food - but he had absolutely no business being there. His culinary skills began and ended with plating the food someone else had lovingly prepared.

He mentally ran over the information Archie and Veronica had relayed during his ‘training’, earlier that day.

Something, something, morning shift.

Something, something, bags of flour.

_Wow._

He needed to get his memory checked. In his defense, the gruesome-twosome’s explanation of what his duties entailed had been lax, to say the least. It wasn't rocket science, to be sure, but Archie and Veronica enjoyed stretching the concept of brevity as far as it could reach.

He remembered them saying there was a task sheet with a summary of all start and end of shift duties. After a bit of sleuthing, he found the laminated paper among a stack of invoices near the till.

**Morning Shift:**

**-Bring in deliveries (ex: bags of flour and sugar) from outside pantry**

**-Refill napkin holders and sugar dispensers**

The list continued and Jughead made a mental note of all the items that could be done in advance.

He brought in the heavy bags of flour, cursing all the while and feeling a renewed sense of respect for the early shift person - Beth? Betsy? He was sure he'd seen it written down on the sign in sheet earlier - If she had the lug these in every day at the ungodly hour of 6AM he hoped she was being payed double.

Half an hour later, Jughead was turning off the overhead lights when his gaze fell on the chalkboard behind the counter. It wouldn't hurt to leave a note to his new colleague.

He picked a spot near to the bottom of the wall, close to a stack of paper cups she would invariably need to use during her shift, but far from the prying eyes of the general public.

He wrote down his message in jagged calligraphy.

Grabbing his keys, he headed for the door and locked up behind him.

.

.

.

.

.

**Betty**

Betty reached inside her bag and pulled out her set keys, letting herself into the coffee shop.

She turned on the lights, put on some music - the latest acoustic playlist Archie had curated - removed her coat and scarf and began organizing the counter for the day.

The coffee shop opened at 8AM, but she always came in two hours early to pop the pastries in oven so everything would be fresh and warm, ready for the first customers of the day.

Betty went through her usual routine, double checking the tray of mugs and takeaway cups, making sure she had enough for the morning rush. She went to collect a few more from the stack near the back and saw a message on the chalkboard wall, written in an unfamiliar scrawl.

 

_To The Early Bird-_

_Apologies for the coffee machine. Despite my best efforts, I have yet to slay this particular beast._

_Its mysteries and inner working have eluded me thus far. Maybe tomorrow I’ll finally discover what a ‘macchiato’ is all about. Sounds dangerous._

_Jughead_

 

Betty’s lips turned up. Jughead had to be the new staff member Dan had told her about. She knew he was Archie’s roommate, and although she was friends with both him and Veronica, she had never gone over to the apartment, so their paths hadn’t crossed.

Betty felt a little bad for him. She knew how overwhelming it could be, starting a new job. Having been at the Brew for over three years, it was basically her second home - really, the environment was more welcoming and less frigid than her actual home had ever been.

Choosing to deal with the expresso machine from hell later, Betty reread the message, vowing to reply before the end of her shift, and left for the kitchen. She was pleasantly surprised to find that most of the heavy-lifting had been done. Jughead’s doing, perhaps? Betty marveled at the kind gesture. Not many people would have bothered. She warmed up to the idea of him right away.

All that was left for her to do was get her scone batter started and into the oven on time.

Betty had always loved to bake, ever since she was a little girl, when her mother taught her how to make chocolate chips cookies for her to take to school and give to her friends on Valentine’s Day.

All other pastries on the menu were made by Dan’s expert hands, but these scones were her specialty, painstakingly perfected over time. Dan had eaten some at a staff meeting once, back when Betty first joined the team, and declared that they _had_ to be added to the menu.

It was incredibly gratifying to see them flying off the counter. It was such a simple thing, really, but people enjoyed them and Betty was more than happy to come in at the crack of dawn to make them. She'd always been an early bird.

Betty chuckled under her breath. Jughead had unknowingly picked an apt moniker.

She was in good spirits and the morning breezed by, a usual mix of hectic moments and slow half hour stretches.

Noon came soon enough and with it, Archie and Veronica, ready to take over the reins.

Betty finished refilling the cookie jars, removed her apron and hunted down a piece of chalk to compose a reply to Jughead’s message.

.

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**Jughead**

 

_To The Night Owl-_

_Many brave souls have been lost to that particular monster. Don't feel too bad._

_I’ve made something to help you navigate the dangers of the coffee menu. Even intrepid adventurers need a little help sometimes._

_Betty_

_PS. thanks for the help this morning!_

 

Jughead’s eyes followed a neatly drawn arrow pointing towards a diagram of nine cups, each depicting a beverage and the corresponding coffee to milk ratio - from the traditional cappuccino ( _expresso; milk; milk froth_ ) to the hot chocolate special ( _always offer extra marshmallows!_ ).

Jughead snorted at the tiny stick figure she had drawn at the bottom, complete with a crown and a sword and facing a crudely sketched dragon with flames spewing out of its mouth. His hand automatically reached up to touch his own crown shaped hat, his mouth quirking up in amusement at the coincidence.

The work kept him busy, too many things he needed to remember how to make. A group of women, wearing what he had once been told by an angry coed at a party was called ‘active wear’, came into the coffee shop with their toddlers in tow, wrecking havoc and disturbing the peaceful vibe Jughead so fervently valued.

They chatted loudly, ordered loudly, and left loudly. Jughead felt emotionally drained.

He grabbed a piece of chalk and wrote down a new message for Betty, careful not to wipe out her original reply.

 

_Early Bird,_

_Tell me everything you know about Babycinnos._

_There’s a group of moms who might very well scalp me tomorrow if don't provide whatever that particular monstrosity may be to their little screaming bundles of joy._

_SOS_

_Jug_

.

The next day, there was a new drawing waiting for him on the board.

 

_Babycinno - frothed milk & plenty of marshmallows. Give them a few extra ones to nibble on and they'll be putty in your hands! ;)_

 

“I see you've meet Betty” Archie appeared, carrying a tray of freshly washed mugs. He deposited it on the counter, next to the coffee machine, and walked over to examine Betty’s handiwork.

“Not really. I left her a note apologizing for not having cleaned the expresso machine on my first day - your fault, by the way.”

Archie brushed off the comment with a smirk. “And she responded in kind. Cute.”

“What’s cute?” Veronica wandered in, apron already untied. Their shift had ended 20 minutes before, but they had stuck around to give Jughead a helping hand.

“Their little notes. Have you seen these?”

“Oh yes. A modern-day Nora Ephron romance. Except that, of course, even in _You’ve Got Mail_ they used computers. Tell me, is good penmanship a turn-on?”

Veronica had always enjoyed riling him up. As Archie’s longtime girlfriend, she spent a lot of time around their apartment and Jughead was used to her playful ribbing. Pushing each other's buttons was part of they dynamic.

“I’ll have you know she's been more helpful than the two of you combined.”

“Hey! Don't forget, I taught you some sick latte art.” Archie countered.

“Such a valuable life skill. I'll treasure it forever.” Jughead teased, patting Archie on the back.

“Fine, you ungrateful nerd. We’re going.”

Veronica dragged Archie away and threw both their aprons into the supply closet on the way out, waving goodbye at Jughead.

He sighed, taking in the mess of dirty glasses his friends had left for him to clean in the sink. He decided that working on his response for Betty was a much more productive use of his time.

.

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**Betty**

A loud beeping noise sounded from the kitchen and Betty dropped the receipts she'd been sorting into piles.

Removing a tray from the oven, she checked each row, making sure every scone was perfectly golden and puffed. Happy with the results, she carefully plated each one and took them out into the shop. A rich, buttery smell filled the air and Betty sigh contentedly, pleased with her efforts.

She bent down to grab a new box of straws and her eyes fell on Jughead’s message of the day.

It had been three weeks of uninterrupted back-and-forth between them, and his notes had quickly become the highlight of her day.

On Thursday, an entire paragraph filled the blank spot they had claimed as their own.

 

_Good morning!_

_I don’t know what kind of dark magic tricks you’ve been concocting in that kitchen, but the Athleisure Posse stopped by and told me they’re thinking of holding Book Club meetings every Wednesday night. HERE. This is worse than the prospect of Archie playing John Mayer’s entire discography on loop. Take them back!_

_Your new frenemy,_

_Jug_

 

She had spoken to Dan about it and he told her he had’t heard from them, so she felt comfortable reassuring Jughead that the plan had probably fallen through.

And if Archie and Veronica smiled slyly at her as she wrote down her message in careful, looping handwriting, she payed them no mind.

.

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**Jughead**

Archie casually threw an unopened bag of dark roast coffee into Jughead’s hands.

“Spill the _beans_ , bro” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. Jughead snorted.

“That’s absolutely terrible. You need to put $10 in the douche jar.”

“We don't have a douche jar.”

“We will. I’ll buy one. Better yet, I'll _make_ one. One of those Pinterest mason jars.”

Archie chuckled. “Whatever, man. Are you going to tell me what's going on between you and Betty or not? Everybody and their aunt, twice removed, knows you're smitten.”

“Archie, I love you like street fair corndogs, but that topic falls squarely outside of your jurisdiction.”

His friend nodded, accepting Jughead’s words easily. That's one of things Jughead loved about Archie - he didn't pry, didn't prod, didn't pester. He made sure Jughead knew he was there for him, but gave him the space he needed to sort out his thoughts.

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**Betty**

 

_Early Bird,_

_I don't presume to know how you feel about pineapple on pizza and I am scared to even broach the subject - such a wildly divisive topic - but in the interest of keeping honesty at the forefront of this penpalship, I should tell you that I am of the opinion that all pizza is created equal and we should not descriminate on the basis of which tropical fruit we choose to top ours with._

_Write back soon, I eagerly await your reply._

_Jug_

 

Veronica stood beside Betty, eyebrow cocked as she read Jughead’s message.

“David Attenborough would have a field day documenting this weird mating ritual you’ve got going on.” She teased, smiling beatifically.

Betty decided to take the high road and ignore her, rummaging around for a piece of chalk.

“Don’t you have napkins to fold or something?”

Veronica giggled. “And miss out on watching you pine over loverboy’s sweet, sweet words? Not a chance.”

“Oh look, a customer! Ronnie will be right with you,” Betty called ou to the woman waiting to be served. Veronica snorted, but relented.

“Fine. Good luck, Nora Roberts.”

Betty focused on her task.

Jughead’s words were often funny, surprising hearty laughs out of Betty. One time, he sent her a set of rhymes that had the entire coffee shop staff groaning.

 

_Roses are red_

_Violets are blue_

_Does corny poetry_

_Gross you out too?_

 

Her reply had been appropriately scathing.

But he also wrote more intimate notes, in smaller, neater handwriting, almost like he was whispering a secret.

 

_Night Owl,_

_I’m so glad I met you._

 

And,

 

_I wish you could have been here today._

 

It probably seemed ridiculous that after a month they had yet to meet. But there was something very alluring about their situation - it was special; unique.

Coming into work every day and reading Jughead’s words never failed to bring a smile to Betty’s face. She looked forward to it every morning.

In a world where life went by so very fast, where everything and everyone seemed to scream ‘this is important! and this is important! pay attention to that!’, it was a relief to focus on something small and tangible that brought her so much joy.

But Veronica’s words weighed on her mind. Perhaps it _was_ time for them to meet. What did she have to lose? It seemed unlikely to her, but if they didn't get along, they wouldn't even have to see each other again. Their schedules were completely different.

She worried over it for a day. Two. Three. A week later, she had made up her mind. It was time.

.

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**Jughead**

The late afternoon rush had come and gone, leaving behind a couple of stragglers who were sat by the window quietly sipping their coffee.

Jughead stared amorously at the box of donuts Betty had left for him, along with her daily message.

Earlier that week she had written a melancholy note about how lonely the shop could get in the mornings. He remember her words clearly.

 

_Sometimes the silence can be deafening._

 

So he had left her a playlist queued up on the sound system. All the songs that reminded him of her - only the very best ones - to keep her company in the dark, cold mornings.

And he wrote back, of course.

 

_Your words are louder than all the conversations I've ever had._

 

He wanted, more than anything, to have been able to see her face when she read it. He had grown tired of this dance of theirs. Not of her - never her. But it was frustrating, not being able see her, hear her.

He didn't want to presume that this was more than it was. What was it, really? Jughead groaned. He wish he could stop his brain from overanalyzing every little detail; from going over ever conversation, obsessively looking for clues.

To him, it was a simple answer. They clicked. She got him - his humor, his self-deprecating jokes, the mood of his notes, even - and that was such a gift, he didn't know to do anything to jeopardize it.

What did it mean for her?

What _was_ it?

.

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**Betty**

Betty prided herself on being a lot of things. A good student; a cautious driver; a halfway decent baker. She did not, however, consider braveness to be among her qualities.

She tried. When she saw injustice, she spoke up. If someone was being mistreated, she intervened. But when it came to herself, she couldn't quite muster the courage to face her fears.

All her life she had done her level best to be the person everyone else expected her to be.

She was Betty Cooper: straight A student, teacher’s pet, Alice Cooper’s demure, perfect little daughter. She was poised and polite and never spoke out of turn. Any deviation from that was absolutely unacceptable.

But ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ was a concept she lived by. So she smiled, even when she felt like frowning; she said ‘yes’ when she felt like saying ‘no’; and she resolutely refused to step out of her comfort zone.

But this - _him_ \- was worth it. It was worth swallowing down her anxiety, shutting up her brain and putting herself out there, be what may.

But she couldn't battle all her demons at the same time. Crippling self-doubt was just as familiar to her as the pastel cardigans her mom used to purchase in bulk and sneak into Betty’s wardrobe like she thought she wouldn't notice.

So when she stood outside the Brew and saw the tall frame of who could only be Jughead Jones - and what a lovely sight it was; dark hair, kind smile, terrible posture that endeared him to her ever so slightly more - embracing a petite blonde, she felt disappointed but not exactly surprised.

She watched as they separated and Jughead - wearing his blue apron, identical to Betty’s - took the girl by the hand and led her to a table near the back, far from view.

It felt like an emotional punch in the gut. She hadn't expected it to sting this much.

Betty’s eyes burned, the cold tendrils of disappointment wrapping themselves around her heart and _squeezing._

She closed her eyes, refusing to let a single tear drop. Then she turned on her heel and left behind her bruised heart.

.

When Betty walked into the Brew the next morning, her feet slowly propelled her forward while dread pooled in her stomach like battery acid. She felt ridiculous. A little embarrassed, even. Of course Jughead had someone. He was kind and funny and charming and no one in their right mind would pass that up.

She was too late. Did she ever even have a chance?

Betty put her bag and coat away, tied her apron behind her back with a tidy bow, tightened her ponytail and walked to the spot where she knew Jughead’s note would be.

 

_Early Bird,_

_Of all the feathered animals in the kingdom, you are by far my favorite. Thank you for the donuts._

 

With her jaw locked and her back rod straight, she turned away from the wall and walked into kitchen, determined to focus all her energy on her baking.

.

Betty washed her hands in the sink, watching bits of dough swirl down the drain. She was on her third tray of scones, two more than usual, but business had been slow all morning and she loathed to stand around doing nothing while her thoughts devoured her whole.

Baking provided a much needed distraction. There was something soothing about measuring out the ingredients, knowing everything would turn out perfect if you did your part well.

She went to grab a fresh washcloth from the supply closet and noticed a man standing by the till. He was vaguely familiar, in the way most college-aged guys tended to blend together after a while.

He smiled coyly at her.

“Hey there, what can I get you?”

Tall, blond and bland ran a hand through his hair, eyes scanning the menu once before locking into hers determinedly.

“I actually came here to get your number. But I'll take a black coffee.” The smile never left his face; a little cocky, like this was a well-used line and he already knew her answer.

Betty was lost for words. This wasn't the first time a guy had tried to flirt with her - it came with the job. She was usually good at letting them down easy (politely, firmly - but gently).

But today she felt raw and tired and decidedly not in the mood. She couldn’t muster a smile, but she forced her face to relax into a neutral expression.

“I’ll be happy to get you that coffee.”

“But not the number? Aw, come on. Playing hard to get is so last year.”

Betty’s gaze steeled. Annoyed, she grabbed a cup and busied herself with pouring the coffee.

“How about your Snap? Instagram? Twitter? I'll even take Facebook!”

Betty remained silent.

“Nothing? That’s kind of rude. I just want us to have a good time, blondie.”

“Listen, do you want the coffee or not?” Her tone left no room for further discussion.

“Everything alright here?” A voice came from behind the guy. He scowled and turned around to see who the intruder was. When Frat Boy stepped aside, Betty got a look at him and recognized him immediately.

Jughead.

His eyes met Betty’s and she felt a shiver run down her back.

“Just making conversation, bro.”

Jughead glared. “It sounded more like a monologue to me. Take a hint, she's just not that into you.”

His entire body was tense, arms crossed over his chest, eyes staring daggers at him. He stood tall and straight, clad in a black leather jacket and dark jeans.

“Whatever. Keep your lousy coffee.” The guy sniggered, heading for the door. He didn't bother to look their way before turning the corner and disappearing from view.

Betty took a shaky breath and fixed her eyes on Jughead. He was closer to her now, only the counter separating them. She allowed her eyes to take him in properly for the very first time.

His eyes immediately drew her in. Blue, deep-set, soulful. They bore into hers. She felt as though he was seeing into her very soul.

His dark, riotous hair, soft strands of which poked out from under a gray hat.

His mouth, delicately shaped. She felt a sudden urge to trace the arch of his Cupid's bow with her finger.

His lips parted - closed - no sound came out. Jughead cleared his throat gently.

“H-hi.”

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**Jughead**

“Jones, this is an intervention.”

Veronica barged into his bedroom, Archie hot on her heels. Jughead sighed deeply. “Listen guys, I’ve cut down to 10 marshmallows per cup of hot chocolate, alright?”

“That would be acceptable if you limited your daily intake to a cup, instead of five, but that's not what this is about.” Veronica moved a stack of books to the floor and sat down on his desk unceremoniously.

“No?”

Archie shot him an incredulous look. “Early bird? Bro, at this rate you’re not getting that worm anytime soon.”

“First of all, that’s an unforgivable use of a cliché. You owe $50 to the jar. Second of all, I fail to see how this is any of your business.”

“Jughead, if you think your Shakespearean love story hasn't been passionately dissected

by staff and café regulars alike on a daily basis, you’re in for a _brewed awakening_ ” Veronica snorted.

“Ugh, kill me,” Jughead threw himself down on the bed, covering his face to hide the blush that was rapidly spreading across his face.

He realized that the method through which he and Betty communicated wasn't exactly covert, but knowing that strangers were talking about them made him feel uncomfortable, like he was being robbed of something very personal.

“This is the non-judgemental breakfast club. Literally.” Veronica said, taking pity on him and handing him a large takeaway box. Jughead lifted the lid and nearly moaned at the sight of two perfect waffles, generously dusted with powdered sugar.

“So, Jug...”

Archie began, only to be interrupted by Veronica.

“Betty saw you with a girl last night.”

Jughead’s eyes snapped up, the words ringing in his ears.

“Betty came by?”

“She's clearly over this weird foreplay you guys have going on. She was trying to be proactive,” Veronica said sharply, her protective instincts rising to the surface. “Archie told me you weren't seeing anyone, so what gives?”

“Sabrina is an old friend. She's transferring to Sarah Lawrence and came to say goodbye” Jughead wondered - not for the first time - why nothing in his life was ever really simple.

“Okay then. Let's just say that the universe played a cruel trick on you and move on from this unfortunate incident. ” Veronica conceded. “But you're going to have to make up for this. Betty was hurt.”

Jughead closed his eyes and sighed tiredly. He could feel a headache looming in his immediate future. He dug into his waffles, fully prepared to eat his feelings, but everything turned to ash in his mouth.

“What do I do?”

Veronica smiled.

“Listen up, discount Dan Humphrey. Here’s the plan.”

.

.

Jughead heard him as soon as he opened the door to the Brew.

“How about your Snap? Instagram? Twitter? I'll even take Facebook!”

He was instantly annoyed. The purported social media mogul stood in front of the counter, blocking his view of the person behind it.

“Nothing? That’s kind of rude. I just want us to have a good time, blondie.”

“Listen, do you want the coffee or not?”

Jughead moves before the guy could utter another word.

“Everything alright here?”

The idiot stepped aside and finally, _finally_ , there she was.

Betty Cooper.

The girl who had permeated his every thought for the past month.

She was frowning deeply at the moron currently wasting everybody’s time. If looks could kill, this dude would probably be on his way to the morgue.

He muttered something inane and left, sensing that this wasn't the adoring audience he was so clearly used to. Jughead followed him with his eyes until he was out the door and then he turned his full attention to Betty.

She was everything and nothing like he had imagined.

Elegant, dainty features. Green eyes set ablaze by the remnants of her annoyance.

What did she look like when she was happy? Carefree? Joyful? Did her eyes crinkle at the corners? Did her smooth, pale cheeks dimple when she smiled?

And her lips - soft, full, pink - pressed together tightly. What would they feel like under his careful fingers?

Jughead felt her give him an appraising look, heavy and thorough. Her face was still guarded. Closed off. He wanted to wipe the tension lines from her forehead.

Words eluded him. He forced his mouth open, pushed his brain to come up with something.

“H-hi.”

 _Enlightened, genius._ he mentally berated himself.

Betty’s lips turned up a fraction. “Hello.”

“I take it you're not big on social media?” He phrased his joke as a question, hoping she'd pick up on the sarcasm.

“Not really.”

“Is it the emojis?”

Betty arched her brow, a hint of mirth touching her eyes. “I prefer longhand.”

An involuntary laugh escaped Jughead’s lips, purging some of the tension from the air around them. He noticed the way Betty’s shoulders visibly relaxed, her posture settling into a friendlier stance. His eyes automatically veered towards the spot on the wall where he knew his last message was written.

Betty followed his gaze and her expression soured a little. Jughead’s stomach knotted uncomfortably.

“Listen, Betty, about last night...”

She looked surprised, like she hadn't expected him to know about her unannounced visit. And really, he wouldn't have, if not for their meddlesome friends. _Thank god for them._

“You don't have to explain. I understand.”

“Not that I don't think you're whip smart, but you really _don’t_ understand.”

Her eyes urged him to go on.

“That was Sabrina, an old friend of mine from back home. We’ve known each other since we were in diapers. She's transferring to another school and came by to say goodbye. There's no one else,” _apart from you,_ he wanted to add, but didn't.

Betty looked deep into his eyes, gauging his sincerity. She seemed to decide that he was being truthful, but her expression remained reserved.

“It’s not really any of my business, anyway.”

“Isn't it?”

Her eyes widened - expectant, hopeful.

“I know that exchanging notes on a chalkboard hardly amounts to _knowing_ someone, but I feel like I do. Know you, that is.”

Betty nodded slowly, a gentle smile spreading across her heart-shaped face, morphing her features into an even lovelier version of herself.

“I like you. I don't like many things - I’m a grumpy sort of guy. But I like empty bookstores, and Central Park on cold, November afternoons, and I like you.”

And apparently the universe decided to grant him all his wishes because at that moment, Betty’s face lit up with a smile so blinding and exuberant that he felt a little like an inconsequential star, orbiting around the sun.

She moved, coming around the counter to stand before him, her hands tentatively carding through the little wisps of hair at the base of his neck.

She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. Her eyes did all the talking. And then, her lips took over.

They kissed, slow and steady, carefully discovering each other.

Betty broke the kiss, her eyes learning the curve of lips, the arch of his brows, the moles on his face.

Jughead felt himself smiling. “Can you leave early?”

Betty nodded. “Dan is in the kitchen, I'm sure he won't mind. He owes me.”

They broke apart and Betty left to speak to their boss. Jughead watched her go, amazed by the turn of events. He didn't pinch himself, because if this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up.

Betty came back with her coat and bag and Jughead grabbed her hand and bolted out the door. He felt a little love drunk, high on the feelings she stirred deep inside him. He squeezed her fingers and snuck little glances. Betty blushed prettily and he felt his heart soar.

They headed for his apartment. It was the longest fifteen minutes of Jughead’s life, but the feel of her hand intertwined with his made up for it. Not for the first time, he felt little kid with a schoolyard crush.

Love made fools out of all of us.

They made it to his apartment and threw decency out the window, lips locking as soon as they walked through the door. Blessedly, nobody else was there.

Exploratory kisses gave way to probing touches. They took their time learning each other's bodies.

Jughead didn't think they were moving too fast. This thing between them had been building up since that very first message. Every line adding to their story, every word telling the other a little bit more about them.

They stopped when it felt natural, underwear still on. They had time.

Jughead wrapped his arms around Betty as they settled into the couch, both of them oblivious to the television playing in the background. It felt - ludicrously, wonderfully - like coming home.

.

.

.

.

.

**Betty**

Betty’s phone buzzed, but it was too far away for her to see the screen and she was too comfortable to move. It was enough to shatter her bubble and bring reality crashing down. It was dark outside, past dinner time. She had maybe, probably outstayed her welcome.

Jughead hadn't said anything. He sighed contentedly from time to time, happy to just hold her, caress her arm, leave a trail of playful kisses down the side of her neck.

Leaving was the last thing she felt like doing.

“It's getting late. I should probably go.” The words burned her throat on the way out.

She felt Jughead shift behind her. Betty forced herself to turn in his arms so she could face him.

“Do you have to?” Jughead’s fingers played with a strand of her hair, twirling it gently, tucking it behind her ear.

Betty swallowed once, twice. She pushed down her insecurities, anchored herself to the moment, to the feeling of Jughead’s hand wrapped around hers, to the way his heartbeat sped up every time she looked into his eyes.

“I could.... I could stay a little longer?” She asked softly.

Jughead’s gaze softened, happy and relaxed, his eyes of a blue so deep Betty felt like she was drowning. She welcomed it, and breathed deep.

“Stay forever.”

.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr @pennyroads
> 
> A link to Archie’s mellow indie/folk playlist is also available :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! x


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